The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1887-01-12
suddenly cIasped her hands and stood

suddenly clasped her hands and stood
up.
Then whose child am Ig'
Mr.. ID. sat down; the sngry IRE was
| fast going out of his heart, and it could
sustain him no longer. Regret, keen
and self accusing, took possession of him
then. Love, pity, every tender feeling
that had so long enlinked that young
girl to his heart, all came back like birds
to a rsvaged nest.
| he would have given worlds for the
power to annihilate those ten minutes of
his life, when one fierce gleam of anger
had unlocked the boarded secret of
years. He turned his eyes almost i'm
ploringly on the trembling girl. His
proud lip quivered, his hand shook as
| he rested it on his knee.
Myra erept to~ard him, heart broken
and wretched, beyond all her previous
ideas of wretehedness. She laid her
hand upon his shoulder, and bent her
face to his as she had done many a time
in her childhood, when some small
trouble oppressed her. But oh, how
unlike her sweet childhood were those
agonized featuresl
"Father-fatherr she said, and her
voice bespoke in its low and thrilling
tones all the anguish be had inflicted
Father, tell me, whose child am | y
''To morrow, tomorrow" /" said Mr.. d. /:
I can 60 through 80 more TO day
But is it true that | am not your
child? ?" said Myra, still hoping against
hope.
alt is true!" he answered; and rising
from his seat with an unsteady step, he
entered his study.
A moment after, Mrs. ID. net Myra
on the stairs. One glance in her face
was enough "Myra, daughterl" she ex
claimed: what is this? You are as
white as death-you tremble."
"Mother-motherm burst from the
lips of the young girl, almost with q
shrek; "they tell me that am not your
child y
Mrs. d. was struck motiOnless. Mar
BILE coald not have been more coldly
white than her face and hands.
And who-who has told yOl this ~
she faltered.
He told me himself-papa-he has
the proofs. Mother, mother, say in mer-
cy that he is only aDgry-that it is not
SOP
With a wild gesture, and burst of
passionate Tears. the unhappy girl cast
herself into her mothers arms. The
poor lady trembled beneath the weight
of that fragile form. She wove her
arms around it; she pressed kiss after
kiss upon that forehead with her cold
and quivering lips.
She strove, by the warmth and pas
sion of her maternal love, to charm
. he ha hor
daughters heart, but she said not in
words, "Myra, you are my child, and
the young girl arose from her bosom
utterly desolate.
The morrow came, and Myra stood by
her father in his study, for he was still
a father to her. The escritoitere was
open before them, and a large pocket
book, with the seal wrenched apart lay
upon the lid.
Mr. ID. sat with his head bent and
shading his troubled forehead with one
hand.
Myra held letter in her shaking
gTasp-a letter addressed to the man
whom she had always deemed her pa
rent, and signed by Daniel Clark. She
could not read; the words swan before
her eyes, but she laid her finger on the
signature and said in low and husky
voice: "This name-Daniel Clark-he
was godfather"
'He was your fatherr replied Mr.
ID. ''Read, read for yourself"
Myra forced her nerves to be still.
With desperate resolution she kept her
eyes upon the writing. Every word of
that tetter contained proof that went
to her heart. She was the daughter of
Daniel Clark.
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